


Deal with a Trickster

by we_all_fall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Crossdressing Dean Winchester, Crying Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, Episode: s03e01 The Magnificent Seven, Episode: s03e03 Bad Day at Black Rock, Forced Crossdressing, Gabriel Has a Crush on Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Light Angst, M/M, POV Gabriel (Supernatural), Possessive Gabriel (Supernatural), Protective Gabriel, Ruby (Supernatural) Dies, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Solitary Confinement, but only briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-07 21:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16416083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_all_fall/pseuds/we_all_fall
Summary: The bullets hit my chest, tingling a bit. I automatically overplay my reaction a touch to pull off the trickster guise, flinching a little and taking a moment to recover.“Ouch,” I tease, “but, y’know? I think it takes a stake dipped in the blood of one of my many victims to bring me down. Have any of those lying around? Didn’t think so.”He shoots me in the face.I groan. “Seriously? You had to pick the face, didn’t you?”





	1. And My Lollipop's Alive

I’m not paying any attention to Sam. Come on! Why would I be? We’ve only met a handful of times, and I’m nothing to him. Just a random janitor and then the trickster he helped kill. So- maybe I’m thinking about him right now. It’s just- he’s dead. Samalam is dead, and I know he’ll be brought back to life without any interference from me, but he’s dead and all I want to do is bring him back to life. I could. It would be beyond massively stupid, but I could. If I handled it right, maybe no one would know it was me. I should just go do it. 

I need to do something else before I go bring Sammy back to life, get caught by Mikey and dragged back to heaven kicking and screaming. Let’s see. Oo. I’m gonna be very wise about dealing with my emotions by writing down how I feel. I conjure a large pot of chocolate swirl pudding to use as finger paint and fly to a wall I can decorate with Enochian. Hmm, what to write? 

And the incredible trickster desired to torture and murder the dumb, idiotic, annoying, unsightly, nasty, evil, murdering, scum-ish Jake, for Jake had stabbed the life out of-

I give up. Enochian takes forever to write in. And I know the chocolate pudding tastes amazing. I can just eat it. So I eat the pudding and then lick the writing off the wall because that was good pudding, much more flavorful than I remember. Although it could be sweeter. 

And then I feel worried about my Sammy-o and have to go check on him. He’s still dead, obviously. Uh-oh. The other Winchester, the funny one with the freckles who wants to kill me, is being stupid and miserable and plotting something dangerous. He’s got graveyard dirt and everything, all he needs is a crossroads and some nasty demon will bring my Sammy back to life. I can’t have that. Some dirty demon grabbing Sam’s gentle, bright soul and swinging it carelessly around? Souls are fragile. Forget it. 

OK, I’m interfering. Screw the apocalypse and all the stupid plans for it. I fly over to Blondie and appear beside him. 

“I never took you for the cruel type,” I say, as a way of announcing my presence. 

Dean-o flinches and whirls around to face me, gun coming up automatically. He looks vaguely confused. “You’re the- trickster.” 

“Uh-huh.” I nod patiently and extend the word to show what I think of his intellect. I wonder if he’ll notice. 

He stares at me with his mouth slightly open for a second before shooting at me. The bullets hit my chest, tingling a bit. I automatically overplay my reaction a touch to pull off the trickster guise, flinching a little and taking a moment to recover. 

“Ouch,” I tease, “but, y’know? I think it takes a stake dipped in the blood of one of my many victims to bring me down. Have any of those lying around? Didn’t think so.” 

He shoots me in the face. 

I groan. “Seriously? You had to pick the face, didn’t you?” I pull the bullet out of my cheek and give the wound half a second to heal before irritatedly flicking the bullet at him. He dodges. 

“Why didn’t it work when I stabbed you before?” he demands angrily. 

I shrug innocently. “Can’t give away my tricks.” 

Blondie looks around for a weapon to use against me and comes up empty. So he glares at me. Boring. “What do you want?” 

I give him a bright, unbelievable smile. “I want to help you!” I say, voice chipper. 

“You can’t. Go away,” he snaps, looking close to exploding and just pummeling me with his fists. He’s not coping well with Sammy’s death. Course he’s not, he’s a Winchester. They have some weird co-dependent thing going. Very unhealthy. 

“Eh, forget all that,” I say, waving a hand vaguely, “The question’s whether you’d rather deal with me or a crossroads demon.” 

That gives him pause. “How do you know what I’m doing?” he asks gruffly. 

I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. “You definitely did not get the brains in your family,” I complain, “Lil Samshine’s dead, and you’ve got graveyard dirt and a bunch of other   
demon deal junk with you. Not everyone’s as thick as you are.” 

“Tricksters can’t bring people back to life.” He sounds so sure of himself. 

“Do you want your brother back or not?” I ask, tempted to roll my eyes again. 

“Why would I trust you?” he demands, “Safer to stick with a demon deal.” 

“Check the price tag,” I say, “I’m not charging your early death and your eternal soul afterwards. And have you thought, Winchester, about what your deal will do to Sam? It’s selfish. And cruel.”

“Well, what are you offering?” Deany demands. Seriously, I have to stop saying he demands this and he demands that. Can you spell r-e-p-e-t-i-t-i-v-e? Just assume until further notice that every word out of Dean’s mouth is an angry demand. Sheesh, the guy has issues. 

“To bring sweet little Sammy-o back to life, duh,” I say, “That’s kinda the point of this conversation.” 

He huffs. “This better not be a trick.” 

“A trick?” I hold my hand over my heart and stare at him with wide eyes. “You insult me, older Winchester. I’d never trick anybody.” 

He isn’t impressed with my overdramaticness. Too bad. 

“Alright, supposing for a moment that you’re for real and you can bring Sam back to life, what’s the catch?” Dean asks. 

I think about it. What to tell him? “The spell will take a bottle of your blood,” I say, “Is that a catch?” 

“And that’s it.” He scowls at me suspiciously. 

“Sasquatch’ll experience some side effects, of course. Nothing serious.” I know just the spell to use. I could just bring Sam-I-am back from the dead with my angel powers, but that’s boring. A spell with fun side effects is much cooler. 

“What side effects?” If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now from the Dean Winchester Overprotective Big Brother Scowl™, archangel or not. It’s deadly. 

“Mood swings, extra fast hair and nail growth, submissiveness, an emotional connection to yours truly, a decreased need for sleep, aaaand- wanting to prank assholes.” I   
count up the first five things on one hand and then create an extra finger for the sixth one. Don’t worry, I vanish it after a few moments. 

Dean’s still not convinced. Yeesh, what does he want from me?

“What do you get out of this?” Still the suspicious, scowly, irritable Dean Winchester we all know and tolerate because he’s Sam’s brother. My- well not my, but a girl can dream- beautiful, hot, sweet, shiny souled, sunshine Sam. He’s perfect. Wait, what was the question? 

“A chance to help people,” I reply. 

“No,” Dean states, “Be real with me for once, you monster. What’s your angle on this?” 

“OK, OK, you got me,” I say, retreating a step, “I have an ulterior motive, big shocker. I need moose hair for a spell, and he can’t grow anymore when he’s dead. The spell will speed up his hair growth along with bringing him back to life, so I’ll wait till his hair’s around his ankles, kidnap him, and chop his hair off. Sound better than selling your soul?” I’m sure I can find some use for that glorious hair if Dean takes this seriously. A wall hanging? It’s an amazing work of art. 

Dean glowers silently at me. 

“If it brings Samshine back, does it really matter?” I ask finally. If that won’t get to him then I’ll have to just bring Sammy back without the spell. Luckily, Dean’s desperate loyalty wins out. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I’ll do it.” 

“Great!” I say, “Go ahead and formally voice your informed consent for me to use the spell we just discussed on little bro.” 

He gives me the stink eye. 

I shrug innocently. “I didn’t make the rules.” So, I did make up some of them. It doesn’t count! 

“I give my informed consent for Mr. Dumbass trickster to use the spell we just discussed on my little brother, Sam,” Dean says, voice loaded with sarcasm. Still, he said it. Sam’s mine now. 

“And the blood?” I ask, offering him an empty root beer can, “Just fill this up.” 

He looks unimpressed, but he pulls a knife out of his boot- the boot? Seriously, so cliché- and makes a cut along his arm. His blood drips into the soda can. When it’s full he hands it to me. This is actually happening. I mean, wow. I get Sammy, and it’s looking like the apocalypse is officially off. Best idea ever! Unless something goes wrong, which seems probable. 

I smile at him and vanish. He angrily yells something after me, but I don’t stop to pay attention to what it is. We’ve covered all the important things I want him to know. I duck neatly into the veil and start scouring it for Sam. He’s not here yet, so he must be caught in the dark web broken or tainted souls can slide into for the first couple days after their death. It’s a little harder to get to, but I manage it ok. What can I say? I’m just cool like that. 

Sam’s soul is cowering in the darkness and looking for a place to hide. I approach, and at first he looks curious and hopeful. But then he seems to remember something and flinches back, trembling. It’s hard sometimes to understand what souls are thinking, but there’s something in his thoughts about blood, Azazel’s blood, and being a tainted abomination because of it. He doesn’t think he’s worthy to be near me. 

I fly over to him and Cage him in my arms. I’m not touching him, but he can’t run off either. I don’t want to force him into coming back to life, but I will if I have to. He’s watching me; he seems confused and awed. That’s a promising sign, I think. I haven’t done much resurrection recently, just killing people and monsters who deserved it. 

Sammy ghosts toward me hesitantly, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed or not. And then he leans against me, almost like he’s trying to cuddle me. It’s adorable, so I hug him and gently carry him back to his body. The spell’s easy to perform, but Sam’s soul starts fussing when I try to get him back in his body. He whines and clings to my chest like a toddler who doesn’t want to go in his car seat. He’s so perfect and adorable. I snuggle him for a few moments before firmly sticky him back in his chest and jumpstarting his body. And then I vanish before he can wake up. Well, I don’t really vanish, I just go invisible so he won’t see me or sense me any other way. 

Sam immediately begins shivering and looks miserable. Um, oops? What did I do? Oh, right, the emotional connection from the spell. He’s scared and lonely and he just had a horrible couple of days what with the kidnapped by demons thing. It makes sense that he’d want to be near the person he was just emotionally bound to. I hope Dean gets back soon; I think being close to someone he trusts will help with this. I didn’t bother mentioning that this would gift Samsquatch with even more inhuman powers besides the demon blood, but basically he’s now gonna be aware of a bunch of random stuff, like who’s in the room while he’s sleeping. He may or may not remember this when he wakes up, I’m not entirely sure what all he’ll develop. Magic is complicated, ok? 

When Sammy wakes up, it’s sudden. He jerks awake, sitting up immediately. He looks around, his breathing settling a little as he sees he’s alone. He seems to go through his memories in his mind and frantically feels along his back for the stab wound from that monster’s knife. I should kill Jake. How dare he touch my Sammy! But for now, I need to keep calm and make sure Sam stays safe. I’m not losing him again. I can’t. 

So I sit around and wait for the other Winchester, the annoying one, to show up. And, soon enough, Dean comes running in. I stay for long enough to see the cute moment where they hug, and then I skip town. The spell will alert me if Samalam’s hurt, so I can run off and have fun now, maybe prank some asshole or eat ice cream until I vomit. 

I didn’t bother telling Dean-o how much of Samoose’s emotions I’d pick up, but basically the facts of the matter are I always have at least the general idea of what’s going on with my Sammy. I don’t get causes unless they’re practically screaming in his mind, but I knew that Sambo and the freckle covered Winchester, along with a handful of friends, were taking down ‘the demon who killed Mom’ and I almost showed up at Sam’s distress when he saw his father again. And then it was over. 

Basically, Sambrador had a quiet less than a week before he managed to get in trouble again. For a hunter, I guess that’s a record. During that time, he fussed over his nails more than usual, got upset and looked confused whenever I was down, started randomly yelling at Deany-beany for no apparent reason twice, had insomnia without the tiredness, etc. But it was mostly normal. 

It’s creeping me out. I can feel Samster’s unease jump at random times and then subside, with no apparent explanation. He’s looking over his shoulder more than usual. So, I show up. In disguise, of course. I don’t wanna have a conversation or anything, I just want to find out what’s up with my Hazelnut. Does that nickname make sense? Do I care? No. Sammy-kins is my Hazelnut. He has hazel eyes, so it works. Oh, I swear those lovely hazel eyes will be the death of me. 

So I spot a demon stalking Hazelnut, and that’s just not ok. She’s following him around everywhere, ducking out of sight whenever he senses her and tries to look for her. What’re the just deserts for stalking Moose? I want to rely on my angelic wrath and follow my instincts, which are to smite her where she stands and go demon hunting for a couple months minimum, but I’m the trickster now. I’m Loki. Her punishment needs to fit the crime and she needs to learn as her existence is eradicated. 

My usual punishment for no contact stalking is blindness and nausea whenever they think their victim’s name. Vomiting throws people off a subject pretty quickly. My other favorites are making all their tech down to their microwaves freeze and crash around them if they were a digital stalker, and making them stink so badly everyone knows when they’re around if they followed their victims manually. I wouldn’t go for the kill unless they had another, more serious crime. If one of their stalking victims died or was seriously hurt, for example. 

Now the demon skank hasn’t had a chance to interact with Samalam in any way yet, but she’s a demon so she’s going to die for this. And it’s Sam. Any other victim, and I might consider feeling a touch of compassion. But not Sam. 

I need a deadly prank. Not my usual system of designing the prank so that if they try to redeem themselves and do something good, they live, and if they won’t listen and they keep doing the same wrong thing, they die. This demon is dead. First I make her feel watched, and watch her get uneasy and uncertain like she made Sam uneasy and uncertain. I teleport her to another location, an abandoned clothing store three states away. I don’t hurt her or approach her, I just move her there and let her struggle to figure out who’s toying with her and why. She’s afraid now, and she’s terrified when she realizes she can’t leave the clothing store. She panics, throwing herself against my invisible barrier which sends painful shocks through her system and begins to fry her insides. 

She’s not stupid, I have to give her that. She realizes that my wall is burning her alive and retreats, obviously hoping to make it stop. It doesn’t. The twisted remnants of what used to be her soul are tearing and breaking and collapsing. She’s dying, it’s only a matter of time, and she realizes that. She starts hunting through the shop, trying to find whoever put her here, but I’m not going to be discovered by anyone if I don’t want to be. Giving up after one thorough search, she pulls out a Kurdish demon-killing knife and tries to cut through my shield. Impressive, but it’s definitely not gonna work. Meaningless extra credit for one soon to be deceased demon. 

She hasn’t got much longer. She’s panicking, and I think she’d do something stupid if burning from the inside out wasn’t sapping her strength so much. She collapses to the ground, biting her lip to keep from screaming, but she has the energy to scowl darkly in the direction I assume she thinks I’m in. It’s cute. 

She’s broken enough now that it’s no effort to dig into her mind. What I see there disgusts me. She was sent to fool my beloved Samsquatch into trusting her, get him hooked on her blood like a drug, seduce him, find a way to send Dean-o to hell, break my Sammy with his brother’s death, and trick him into killing Lilith and busting Lucifer out of his Cage in hell. It’s horrible. I slow the burning to keep her alive longer so that she can feel more pain. How dare she plot to hurt Sam like that! Tears prick my eyes but don’t fall. She’ll never get near Samelot again. 

The demon dies a slow, painful death. I drop the shield and leave to check on Hazelnut. Demons tend to move in groups, and humans are vulnerable to their attacks, not having any decent way to fight against them. If somebody hurt Samster I’d know instantly, but he feels scared enough that he could be cornered or imprisoned and need my help. 

And Sammich is fighting three weird demons all at once. His friends gang’s all tied up in their own problems, so I’m gonna have to get creative to find a way to save him without revealing myself, cuz I’m just not ready for that conversation. I could just kill them from a distance, but that’s not really any fun, to be honest. Smiting random demons? Boring. I check their identities to see who they are and what would be poetic to use against them. Oo, the seven deadly sins incarnate, and these are Pride, Greed and Gluttony. 

I don’t have time to come up with anything elaborate as Samalam can’t hold them off much longer, so I exorcise the demons and yank them out of the room as smoke. I misshape Pride, making him look so disgusting he explodes himself from anguish. Greed I offer a powerful light and spell him so he chases it until he gets to close and burns out like a moth. And I weaken and lessen Gluttony’s essence until he essentially starves to death in a matter of moments. That, I consider to be their just deserts. 

I go back and watch Sam-I-am and the other hunters clear up the last bits of their hunt. It’s boring, but I want to stick around for a little to reassure myself that Sammy-o will be alright. And maybe I should- I don’t know- talk to him, or something? He’d probably hate me just for being a trickster, though, and if he hates me I’d rather not know. I’m too cowardly to talk to him. I stay long enough to be sure that he’s ok, and then I skip out again. I’ll come when he needs me or calls me.


	2. Christmas Cookies and Curses

It’s two weeks later when I next feel something concerning from my Hazelnut. It’s not an unusual thing to feel from a link to a hunter, but I don’t like it. Samsquatch is under a spell. It doesn’t seem harmful, although it is powerful, so I don’t have an excuse for my strong negative reaction. It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening in me, but then it clicks. I’m jealous. I don’t want anyone’s magic but my own working on Sam, because he’s mine. Ugh, I’ve never been this much of a possessive jerk before. I ignore my petty desire to run to Samalam and tear the spell off of him, and try to ignore the bond I created between us. It’s hard. 

It’s also a mistake. I’d already checked the spell and seen that it was harmless, and what with ignoring the bond I didn’t catch it when the spell’s intent shifted. It was the same spell, so there wasn’t the shock of a magic shift or anything to warn me that my human was in serious danger, locked under a spell that was actively trying to kill him. I finally noticed when the Samster got himself knocked unconscious. I popped over invisibly to check on him and found him being tied to a chair by two idiot humans who deserved to be immediately fried to death, or maybe worse. 

I snap my fingers and the hunters vanish. They’ll be trapped in a pocket universe of mine until I have time to deal with them. I free my Samshine and lay him down carefully on the bed. He starts coming around after a moment. I’m about to leave, but his eyes flicker open and the expression in them is so lost that I can’t bear to leave him alone like this. I turn visible and sit down on the edge of his bed. 

“Hey, Samsquatch!” I chirp, “Welcome to the land of awakefulness!” 

He blinks those lovely, soft hazel doe eyes. “That’s not a word.” 

“It is now,” I say cheerily, “So, how’re you feeling, kiddo? You banged up your head pretty badly.” 

He sits up cautiously. “OK, I guess, considering I’m supposed to die within the week.” His voice is bitter. 

“Spill, what did you do?” I’m a little afraid. I’m confident enough in my power that I know I can save him, but I’m still nervous because I don’t know what’s happening yet and he has to be ok. 

“And why would I tell you exactly?” Samalam asks incredulously. Ouch. 

“After all the work I went to to bring you back to life, I’m not letting you get your stupid ass killed again because you’re too ‘holier than thou’ to except non-human help. What did you do?” 

“You trick people,” he argues, “How do I know this isn’t some elaborate revenge plot for trying to kill you before?” 

“I’m hurt, Sam-I-am,” I declare, slightly melodramatically, “I’ve done nothing to harm you, and you don’t trust me at all.” I pout at him. 

“I-” His shoulders drop. “Alright.” He looks fragile all of a sudden, like a mask was torn away. I knew he was going to get more emotionally vulnerable with me because of the spell I used to raise him, but it’s more beautiful than I’d anticipated. 

“You got hit with a spell,” I say, “What can you tell me about it?” The heating system starts to malfunction, but I don’t bother paying attention. 

He sits up straighter and takes a calming breath, looking away from me for a moment to gather himself. “So, get this,” he says, “Dean and I tracked down a cursed rabbit’s foot that gives you good luck until you lose it, and then when you lose it it kills you within the week with bad luck. Bela Talbot stole it from me.” 

“Sounds nasty,” I say cheerfully, “Well, good luck, Sammich. You’re going to need it.” I bounce up to stand on the bed and mess up his hair, then vanish. 

“Wait!” he calls after me, “You said you’d help me!” 

I said I’d help him. I didn’t say I’d openly help him. I’m just gonna hang around and yank his ass out of the fire if he needs it. If I save his life a couple times when he gets in trouble, maybe the next time we chat he’ll feel safer trusting me. I’m- I don’t- OK, basically, I don’t feel safe being around people, especially hunters who could find out who I am. I’m so used to keeping my distance and staying unattached as much as possible, especially since the last time I got attached it was a complete fiasco that I’m not sure I’ll ever be over. 

So I’m keeping my distance as much as I can, even though what I want to do is be with Samshine constantly and never let him out of my sight. But that’s a stupid idea. He can live his own life. He doesn’t want me around anyway. 

And right now, keeping my distance means that I’m standing right beside him invisibly. Yeah, yeah, very distant, I know. But- I’m letting events play out! If I don’t do anything then it doesn’t count. Except maybe as stalking. And it’s not stalking, because his brother made a deal with me. Hazelnut is mine. I have the right to be possessive, sort of. Sort of. Anyway, I don’t care; I’m doing it. I can’t let him get hurt. 

Bela –I need a nickname for her- shoots at the Samster. It would’ve hit him in the shoulder and done no real damage, but I don’t let the bullet come anywhere near my Sammy anyway. I catch the bullet and throw it back at Edward’s girlfriend minus an l. OK, so that one was awful. Anyway, my aim is perfect regardless of my lack of nicknaming skill, and it hits her nose and bounces off. 

I’m gonna call her Ice Princess since her heart’s apparently non-existent. So, the Icy Princess of Annoyingness looked nervous but hid it well. Dean-o was confused, and she saw that and it seemed to bolster her confidence. Sammykins looked hopeful, so I’m calling this a win. I think he guesses it’s me who threw that. His eyes are lit up beautifully, all gold and green and brown mixed together, with just a trace of silvery blue. A trace that’s growing through my powers and will eventually dominate his eyes when he uses the power he’s gaining, but then later will fade when he truly owns what he’s doing. My magic will blend into his soul until it’s as natural to him as breathing. But I was supposed to be talking about what’s happening, right? Yeah, so, Deany-beany and Ice-heart. 

Icy Micey leans back a bit, nonplussed. Hah! I confused her. The hand with the gun in it comes up to aim at Samalam’s chest. Uh-oh. 

“Whoa- whoa, whoa, wait,” Hazelnut says, lifting his hands. 

Talbot pulls the trigger three times in quick succession. I transform the bullets into rainbow glitter in midair, and they splatter across Sam-I-am’s neck and shirt in a blur of sparkly colors. He looks good like this. Note to self: cover Sambrador in glitter while in a situation not involving guns potentially deadly to my Sammy. 

“What the hell!?” That’s Dean, if it wasn’t obvious. “Sammy, you ok?” 

“It’s the trickster,” Sam says, face lighting up. He looks so innocent and beautiful. 

“The trickster?” Talbot- I bet there’s a good nickname there- asks nervously. No, Tall Butt is the best I can come up with, and that’s too middle school for my tastes.   
“Why would it be the trickster?” Dean demands, looking around like he thinks I’m hiding in the bushes, “Has he contacted you?” 

“It was just the once,” Sam says defensively, “If it was important I would’ve told you. I was waiting until we solved the rabbit’s foot case.” 

“OK, what are you talking about?” Blahbot asks. 

I grab the rabbit’s foot and toss it into the fire. Her eyes track the movement and she points her gun at me. She’s surprisingly good at guessing where I am, but she doesn’t fire and I wouldn’t be hurt anyway, which she seems to know. She starts backing up with the obvious plan of getting out of here. Nobody bothers with trying to stop her, though I note her theft of Deany’s lucky scratch tickets with amusement. Dean-o and the Samsquatch are too preoccupied with looking around for me to notice anything. 

“Stop hiding, you son of a bitch!” Dean-bean yells. It’s just his luck I was standing in the opposite direction from the one he yelled in. 

Samoose closes his eyes and concentrates for a few long moments. 

“What’re you doing?” Deany-weeny demands worriedly. 

Hazelnut lifts his head, the silvery blue clear in his irises. He points straight at me. “He’s there.” 

Dean-o stares in my direction. He doesn’t see anything. I make myself visible on a whim and wave, smiling warmly at my Sammy. “Hey, Samshine,” I say, before turning to his annoying brother, “Deany-bopper.” 

“You,” Dean says, pointing at me and looking angry, “What’d you do to Sammy?” 

I raise my hands to express my total innocence in everything. “I said there’d be side effects,” I say, “Did you pass your second grade listening test?” 

“My what?” He sounds angry, big shocker. Maybe I’m just really good at pissing this guy off, but I feel like he has anger issues. 

“My point exactly,” I tell him cheerfully, “Glad to see we’re on the same page, Dean-o.” 

He points his gun at me and fires it. The bullet makes a bloody hole in my favorite jacket. “Really?” I demand irritably, “I liked that jacket.” I snap my fingers, making a set of bloody holes in Dean’s jacket. Fair is fair. 

“Dean!” Sammy-o cries worriedly. 

Dean-o is looking around for something, I’m not sure what. He makes a sudden dash for the trees and starts rooting around for something on the ground. 

“Dean?” Samelot asks tentatively. 

Deanna gives a crow of triumph and comes up holding a stick. Oh, a stake. He’s going to try to stake me. 

I laugh. “You know it needs to be dipped in the blood of…” I trail off. “Oh.” 

Dean-o whips out a knife and slashes his palm, smearing blood from the wound along the sharper looking end of the stick. 

I take a step back. The stake won’t kill me since I’m not an actual trickster, but I don’t want him to know that. Maybe someday I can tell dear Sammy, but Dean-o would just try burning me in holy fire if he found out. Safer to avoid getting staked. 

“Dean, don’t,” Samalam says. 

“He’s the trickster!” Deanybopper yells, “We’re ganking him.” 

“But, Dean-” Samshine starts, but I don’t give him time to finish. 

I smirk and loudly snap my fingers. Dean-o’s clothes turn into a pretty, light green girl’s dress. Any traces of stubble on his chin are gone. He’s wearing makeup: soft, deep pink lip-gloss, elaborately shaped turquoise eyeliner, deep green eye shadow that makes his eyes pop, a touch of mascara to enhance his already long eyelashes, and a rosy layer of blush across his freckle-dusted cheeks. And he’s got strappy, white, three-and-a-half inch heels that he doesn’t know how to stand in. His face is priceless. 

Sambrador stares at his brother in shock for a long moment before snickering. He tries not to at first, but Dean-o looks so horrified and offended that he can’t help it. I don’t even try to hold back my laughter. Blondie looks so indignant and flabbergasted. It’s great! I should pull pranks like this on him more often. 

“Son of a bitch!” Deanna waves his bloody stake at me, looking absolutely ridiculous. 

“Sorry, Deanna,” I say, chuckling, “would you have preferred pink? Cuz that can be arranged.” I raise my hand to snap, smirking at him. 

“No,” Deany growls, “We’ll get you for this, trickster.” 

“Sure you will, kiddo,” I say condescendingly. 

He splutters. “How dare you. I’m a hunter.” 

Samsquatch sighs. “Would you mind turning him back? We won’t try to kill you.” 

“You won’t try to kill me,” I correct, snapping my fingers to stick Dean-o back in normal clothes and shoes. I leave the make-up. Hey, it’s an improvement on his normal macho overcompensating look! 

And hey, I’m right. The moment he’s wearing shoes he can move in, Deanna tackles me and tries to stab me with the stake. I dodge, frantically waving my hand and dumping him back in the Impala a block away. Phew. That could’ve gone worse. 

I groan, dragging my hand across my face. I move to sit up and see that Samalam’s offering me his hand. How chivalrous of him. I take his hand and he pulls me up. I hang onto his hand for a little longer than I intend because it’s warm and gentle, with callouses in the right places. I’m not usually like this, but Sam’s imperfections are perfect and I can’t help loving him in the gushy hold-hands-and-get-married-and-grow-old-together sense. Too bad we most definitely can’t and he wouldn’t want to anyway. And I wouldn’t want to. Yeesh. Ugh, this is messing with my head. 

I pick up my lollipop from where it had fallen on the ground when Dean-o tackled me and stare at the dirt covering it with dismay. Note to self: do not drop lollipops in graveyards. Then I shrug, drop it, and make a Twix Bar appear in my hand. And a chocolate macaroon on second thought. And then I get to eat sugar, which always makes me feel better. 

“Christmas cookie?” I ask the Sasquatch, offering him the bag. Which, yes, I just created out of thin air half a second ago. 

“Christmas?” Sam asks, taking a cookie, “It’s mid October.” 

I shrug. “Yeshua, or Jesus in your language, was born in spring. Christmas is just covering up the winter solstice. So I eat Christmas cookies year round to celebrate.” I don’t want to sound too much like an angel, but I figure since I’m a trickster and I’m talking about sugar I can get away with it. 

“So, pagan tricksters celebrate Christian holidays?” Sam-I-am asks skeptically. 

I throw a handful of red and green peanut M&M’s at his head. “Don’t overthink candy, Samster,” I chide. 

Hazelnut throws his cookie at me, and I try halfheartedly to dodge but end up with cookie crumbs across the shoulder of my jacket. The cookie lands on the ground. I give Samelot a mournful look. 

“You wasted a perfectly good cookie. It even had frosting on it,” I pout. 

Sambrador lifts one eyebrow and points at the ground. “M&Ms?” 

I can’t really argue with that one, so I pelt him with smarties and materialize three of those smarties necklaces around his neck and two bracelets each on his wrists. I also stick a bracelet on the top of his head like a crown. 

I hear running footsteps. Dean-o’s really hurrying to get back here. I wonder what he thinks I’m doing to his Sasquatch of a brother. “Until next time, oh brave hunter,” I tease. And I vanish. I don’t feel like another confrontation with the grumpier Winchester. Sammy’s much calmer with the whole gank all monsters thing. 

So, that’s that. I saved my Sammy from the creepy-ass spell that tried to take him away from me, and I got to talk to him a little more. He’s warming up to me, I’m sure of it. And he’s amazing. His one flaw is that he’s way too tall. Seriously. I mean, calling him Sasquatch is fun, but he’s seven feet tall and that’s very unnecessary.


	3. Sugar in Tears

It’s been two months. I feel guilty about leaving Samalam for so long, cuz I know he’s changing more from the spell and probably panicking about it. I just- well- he wasn’t ever injured badly enough for me to bother showing up, and there was this exotic dancer I had a fling with, and basically one thing led to another and I forgot about Sam Winchester. 

So, now, it’s Christmas! Yay! I get candy and presents and there are parties and cool music and boring music and snowmen and snowball fights and hot chocolate and a cool story and trees in people’s houses for no explainable reason and Christmas lights! Basically it’s just really exciting! Except- it’s sort of supposed to be a holiday you celebrate with your family, and… I’m a runaway. I don’t have a family, and it’s all my fault cuz I could’ve stayed. I miss all my siblings, and Father especially. I don’t even have any real friends now. 

I want to go find Sammy. Maybe I can talk him into caroling with me and leave wrapped moose antlers under his Christmas tree. He’s the closest thing I’ve got to family, which is sad as he doesn’t even know my name. What does it say about me that the person I’m closest to is a hunter who’d probably like to kill me and think nothing of doing so? OK, done miserably obsessing. Let’s go talk to Samshine! 

I snap my fingers and appear next to the Samster. But something’s wrong. The circular, windowless room is made of iron and coated with salt. It’s covered in traps and sigils, aimed at a lot of things but mostly demons and tricksters. I can feel the part of me that’s a trickster being resisted; the sigils are trying to push me out of the room. As I’m actually an archangel it’s no problem, but I think a trickster would have difficulty entering. It wouldn’t be impossible, just tricky, and tricksters are good with tricky for obvious reasons. 

The only person in the room is Sam-I-am, and he’s in bad shape. He’s curled against the only door in the room, lying in a fetal position. His breaths are shallow and his eyes are closed even though he’s awake. His fingernails are torn, like he tried to claw the door open. There’s an icy greenish cast to his face and purple bruises under his eyes. I feel sick, seeing him like that. 

I snap us out of the room, landing in the living room of one of my safe houses. Sam startles at the change but doesn’t open his eyes. I approach him slowly. 

“Samshine?” 

He whimpers. “You’re not real.” His voice is rough, probably from thirst or just not talking for too long. 

I kneel beside him. “Why d’you think I’m not real, kiddo?” 

“No one’s coming,” Hazelnut says. He sounds empty. He doesn’t have any hope. 

“How long were you in there, Sammy-o?” I try to sound gentle or whatever, but it doesn’t come naturally. 

He doesn’t move or speak. 

I’m getting worried. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do in this situation. I don’t know how to help him, or even what exactly’s wrong. 

“Come on, Samshine,” I try, “At least open your eyes.” 

Sammy shakes his head vehemently. It’s the strongest reaction I’ve gotten so far, so I decide to investigate. 

“What’s the thing with the eyes?” I ask, “Something happen, Samelot?” 

He shrugs. I am getting really sick of this one sided conversation deal. 

“How’d you get in there, anyway?” 

He whimpers and covers his face with his hands. 

“OK, no asking about that, I guess,” I say, “Alright, um…” 

“You should put me back,” he mumbles. 

I blink. “What? No, not happening.”

“I’m a monster,” he says dejectedly. 

“Who told you that?” I demand, “I’m killing them. Several times.” 

He shakes his head. “Was my fault.”

I cross my arms. “Was not.” 

“You don’t know what happened,” Samshine says weakly. 

“Nope,” I say, “but it doesn’t matter. I know you. You’re like- the sweet, compassionate good guy knight from a cheesy fairy tale.” 

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Samelot whines, “Am I even human anymore?” 

“Course not,” I say, “Being human’s boring; why would you wanna be human your whole life?” 

“So you’re saying I am a monster.” 

“No- well, yes, technically, but- that term is racist!” I argue, “So, you’re not human. Most people aren’t human. Doesn’t make you worth any less or whatever stupid shit daddy Winchester drilled into your head. He was a dumbass.” 

Sammy-o chuckles a little, so I’m counting this a win. The poor kid does not need to see himself as a monster while he’s recovering from solitary confinement and whatever else happened to make him act like this. 

“So- it’s really over?” Samalam asks. 

“Yup,” I say, “I’m an idiot; I should’ve checked in on you ages ago. Sorry.” 

“I don’t want to open my eyes,” Samalot mumbles. 

“C’mon, kiddo,” I say, “How bad can it be? Just open em for a second.” 

“Dean said they were proof I’m a monster,” Sam-I-am whimpers, sounding very much like a child. 

“He was wrong,” I say firmly, “C’mon. Open those peepers.” 

My Hazelnut considers for a moment before pulling his hands off his eyes. It’s a start. His eyes blink open slowly and he squints at me against the light. I’ve always loved Sammy-o’s eyes, but they’ve become incredible. Usually, his eyes are a pretty, wild mix of brown, green and gold. All those colors are still there, but they’ve been joined by blue, red, silver and white, and the colors are all brightened and sparkling. He looks amazing, to be honest. But those lovely eyes are staring at me miserably like he’s expecting to be hit. 

“Wow,” I say. 

Tears well up in his eyes, and I’m reminded that the spell I used on him made him more sensitive to me. He must think I think he’s a monster like Dean apparently did. That stings. 

“You’re more beautiful than you’ve been before,” I tell him. 

“You’re not mad?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Trust me, Hazelnut, there’s no reason for anybody to be mad at you about your eye color,” I say. 

“But- it isn’t normal,” he argues. 

I nod patiently. “Sammich, you grew up hunting things most people don’t even know exist. You ran away, only to come back when your dad dumped your brother. Your brother died. You died. There’s never been anything normal about your life. Get over it already.” OK, so I could’ve been more sensitive. Maybe he’ll get mad or something and it’ll help that I’m kind of a jerk. 

“Is that supposed to be encouraging?” 

Oh, good, now he sounds vaguely amused. That’s better than apathetically miserable. 

“Uh, yeah?” I try, “I’m not good with-” I wave my hand at him vaguely- “dungeon misery victims or whatever.” 

“I noticed,” he says, smiling wryly at me. 

“Sorry,” I say awkwardly. 

There’s a pause. A really awkward one. Sam breaks it; I wasn’t sure how to. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

I’m confused. “What’d I do?” 

“I was in solitary confinement… you rescued me… ring any bells?” he teases. 

“Oh, right,” I say, “but it was sorta my fault in the first place, Samster, so you don’t have to thank me.” 

“How was any of this your fault?” 

I hesitate, thinking about that. “If I’d brought you back a nicer way this wouldn’t be happening. And I could’ve. This was just easier. I’m sorry, Sam.” I look away from him miserably. 

“You got my name right,” he says, sounding overly shocked and impressed, “but, seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to bring me back to life at all. I’m alive because of you, and maybe that makes the bad things your fault, but everything good that’s happened to me in the past few months is down to you as well. Don’t apologize.” 

“You are way too nice,” I complain, “You’re gonna turn into Superman or something and be really annoying.” 

He rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. 

There’s a brief pause in our conversation again, but this one isn’t anywhere near as awkward. 

I study the purple bruises under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all in the last week?” 

He shrugs, looking away. “Not really.” 

“How long were you in there?” I ask. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “What day is it?” 

“Saturday,” I say. 

He looks confused. “The fifteenth? Then it’s only the third day.” 

“No. Samalam, it’s the twenty-second,” I say, “That’s nine days.” 

“Oh,” he says. 

“What happened, Sammich?” I ask, “This is really bad. How’d you end up in there?” 

“I got mad and made things explode,” he said miserably, shoulders hunched, “So Dean had me go in the panic room while he looked for a cure.” 

I raise my hand to snap, then think better of it. “Hazelnut, how mad will you be if I skin your dick brother alive? It won’t kill him.” 

“Wait, don’t hurt Dean,” Sammy-o protests immediately.

“Why not?” I groan. 

“He was right,” he says, “I needed to be locked up before I could hurt anyone else.” 

“Alright, who’d you hurt?” I ask. Maybe I can talk my Sasquatch out of his whole ‘I’m a monster’ spiel if I help him fix whoever he thinks he hurt. 

“Bobby,” he says, lower lip trembling a little. 

“The gruff older guy you called in to help kill me the first time we met?” I ask, unimpressed. Well, I know Bobby matters to Samelot so I guess he can’t be all bad, but he did try to kill me and it isn’t a fond memory. 

The Samster nods. “I hurt Bobby. It could’ve been worse, but Dean was right to lock me in the panic room.” 

“Did Bobby die or something?” I hope not. It’d be really bad for Sammy’s head if he killed his friend. 

“I think he just cut his hand,” he says uncertainly, “Dean rushed me from the room so I didn’t see what happened exactly, but there was a lot of blood. And- and then Dean wouldn’t tell me anything so I don’t know if Bobby’s ok or not. Dean didn’t want to even talk to me through the door. He hates me now.” He looks like he might start crying. A tear drips from the corner of his eye and leaves a wet path down his cheek. Great. Now Sammich is crying. This whole situation is a disaster, and I’m gonna kill Dean. 

“Oh, Samshine.” I don’t know what to say to comfort him, so I don’t say anything. I just sit next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. He leans against me and cries into my shoulder, which is kinda awkward since he’s two feet taller than me. 

I can’t think of anything nice to say, but I feel stupid just holding him. I start humming an old tune the angels used to use to comfort each other in heaven. It’s nothing fancy, just the angelic equivalent of a nursery rhyme really. 

Sam’s shoulders stop shaking after a while, and when he pulls back he isn’t crying anymore. He looks exhausted and his face is a mess, but his eyes are more alive. They lost the empty, dead look from earlier. 

“Sorry,” he hiccups, looking away from me in embarrassment. 

I shrug. “It’s fine, Samshine.” 

He hugs his knees to his chest. “What’s going to happen?” he asks. 

“How d’you mean?” 

“What are you planning?” he asks, “Why’d you save me?” 

“You made quite the impression, Samwise,” I tell him, “You won’t get out of my head, so I might as well keep you alive and stuff.” 

“This isn’t some round about revenge for February?” I wish he didn’t sound so scared and helpless. I want him to be happy and feel safe. Damn Dean Winchester. 

“Are you still planning to kill me if you get a chance?” I ask him. 

He bites his lower lip. “No, but Dean probably would.” 

“If you’re done trying to kill me, then I’m over it,” I say, “I don’t particularly want to fight you, Sam-I-am. Though I will defend myself if big bro goes on the offensive, and I reserve the right to use you against him as a hostage.”

He looks nervous. “How exactly are you thinking to use me as a hostage?” 

I take his hand, loosely curling his fingers as though he were holding something. And then I create a dagger so that he’s holding the handle in his hand. He looks impressed and a little scared. His fingers tighten around the handle and he looks at me questioningly. 

“Cut yourself with it,” I order. 

“Uh… no,” he says firmly. 

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not trying to- oh, fine,” I say. I grab the knife blade tightly, making sure to put obvious, strong pressure where the knife edge digs into my palm. And then I show him my uninjured hand. “It doesn’t actually cut anything, kiddo. Try it.” 

And then Sam runs his finger along the edge of the blade. “How do you get it to look sharp?” he asks. 

“Basic magic,” I say, “I just cast a light opposing blur spell on the metal.” 

He looks at the knife edge with something like longing. 

“Do you want me to teach you?” I ask, taking a guess at what he’s thinking. 

He shakes his head slowly. “Hunters don’t use magic.” He doesn’t look happy with that statement. I’ll have to find a way to talk him out of the black and white hunting mentality he’s trapped in. I want him to be himself, not who he thinks he should be. I think he’s going to be amazing.


End file.
